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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29716749">hungry soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofgoldenghost/pseuds/somekindofgoldenghost'>somekindofgoldenghost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fate: The Winx Saga (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, back from the dead, better than ever, post-Season 1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 18:28:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,755</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29716749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofgoldenghost/pseuds/somekindofgoldenghost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I used to be too deep inside my head </i>
  <br/>
  <i>Now I'm too far out of my skin </i>
</p>
<p>Farah comes back to life in more ways than one.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Farah Dowling/Saul Silva</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hungry soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bloom brings her back to life, pulling her body out of the ground as if by some heavenly string, and suddenly she’s back in the cold, damp forest, made colder because she’s naked as a newborn baby. She sits up quickly and hugs her knees to her chest as she wheezes in air, her lungs aching. Bloom throws a blanket around her shoulders with an oddly professional manner, as if seeing her teacher nude and back-from-the-dead is not the weirdest thing she’s encountered today. Then Ben is kneeling in front of her and she blinks back tears at the sight of his lovely, kind face. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"We got your call," he says softly. His hands find the pulse at her neck, listening. “Great job, Bloom. Pulse is strong and steady.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bloom smiles shyly behind him, pride pinking her cheeks. It makes Farah smile in turn, her face tight with the effort: she’s still such a girl, despite her unfathomable abilities. Grateful for praise. Trying her best. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can you speak?” he asks Farah. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” she answers, but her voice sounds horrible, like a flute that cannot get enough air through it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good enough,” answers Ben. “How do you feel?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She feels like Gandalf the White brought back to finish the job. She feels like she’s already wasted however many days she’s spent buried in the ground. She feels filled with a rage that she’s never known before. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cold,” she answers. “Sore. A little weak.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ben nods. “All expected.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why am I naked?” she croaks out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hears Bloom give a little laugh, but Ben stays serious. “Because we weren’t sure what Rosalind did to your body. Your… grave had already flowered. It seemed unlikely—“ he struggles for a second and then continues. “Bloom did a renewal. It seemed smarter.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like a do-over,” says Bloom, unhelpfully. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“To bring your body back to the way it was before,” clarifies Ben. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Before I was killed,” she says. The words feel wrong in her mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ben nods. “Anything badly hurt? Feel different? Anything we’ve overlooked?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes a moment to pass inventory over her body. She feels like she’s been asleep for days, but otherwise fine.“No.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh,” he breathes out. “Fantastic.” He wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. He’s always been the hugger out of the lot of them. She settles into his warmth and listens as he gives instructions to Bloom. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knew he wouldn’t take her back to the school, but she’s still surprised when he leads her to a ramshackle cabin outside of the barrier. Inside is Terra who runs to hug her as soon as she’s through the door. Like father, like daughter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so happy you’re ok,” she sobs out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Farah has always loved this girl ferociously. Being the offspring of one of her dearest friends already put her in a league of her own, but Terra’s own sweet nature has made her easy to love and encourage. She remembers her as a cheery little girl excited to share her newest favorite thing, which could range from a pretty rock to a stuffed horse to a cat skull she found under the greenhouse. Farah loved the afternoons she’d spend with Ben when Terra would install herself on her lap. She'd ask for stories or magic or nothing at all, and Farah would kiss her head and hold her as she inevitably fell asleep while the adults talked. Just the comfort of a mother for a motherless girl. She was a woman without a child and Terra was a child without a mother, and while she never fully stepped into that role - she could never - those moments together felt like small blessings. She had been a motherless girl herself at one point. She knows the bone-deep loneliness of it and she desperately wished to keep Terra from knowing it as well. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So it’s fitting in its own way that Terra is the one who stays while the others step outside and helps her into the clothing the girl has so clearly picked out with great consideration. The sweater, the blackest black, feels soft and sweet against her skin, all of her nerve endings aware that they are suddenly awake after a deep slumber. Socks on her feet is so blissful a feeling she has to stop and close her eyes for a couple seconds. Even just the warmth of the simple pants on her legs sends dopamine straight through her brain. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I hope it’s all ok,” Terra says softly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My dear, you did perfectly,” she answers, and leans to press a kiss on her forehead just like she used to. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Terra smiles sweetly. “Please don’t ask me to do your hair, though. I have no idea how you do it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Farah laughs, the sound raw in her throat, and gestures her hand to her left. A mirror appears on the wall and she sighs in relief. She was half-worried she’d have to relearn magic like people have to relearn language after a traumatic brain injury. After all what is death, but a type of traumatic brain injury? She smiles at Terra. “Still got it,” she says as she turns to face the mirror.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wondered if she’d look any different, but she doesn’t. Not really. Just more tired than usual with dark half-moons beneath her eyes. Her hair hangs loose and long, and it brings her back to her own days as a student: a time before Rosalind told her to never be caught with her hair down again because it was a sign of weakness. Of laziness. Of girlishness. From that moment on she kept her hair pinned up at all times, even after Rosalind’s imprisonment. Over the years it became a sort of crown, distinguishing her, she believed, as a serious woman of authority. Saul would tease her about it and pull out tendrils when she wasn’t looking like a little boy. He's the only one who would dare. “So serious,” he’d taunt and she never managed to hold back a smile even while chastising him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With it down she does look less serious: younger, softer, more vulnerable. She sits with that feeling for a moment, until she notices Terra twitching impatiently beside her. Her fingers quickly form a loose plait and she drapes it over her shoulder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is good enough for now,” she says calmly to the girl. “Where next?”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ben sends the girls back to school and he leads her carefully down a trampled trail to where it opens up on a paved road. A car is waiting about 100 yards away and Ben makes haste for it. “My cousin,” he tells her. “You’ll be staying with him until you’ve recovered fully.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Farah half expects him to toss her in the car and wave goodbye, but he hops in next to her and introduces his equally kind-faced cousin. “Joseph has a farm on the outskirts of the capital. You’ll be safe there and most importantly you’ll be out of sight.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They spend the rest of the ride in silence, Ben’s hand gripping hers like he’s afraid she’s just going to slip back into death if he dare let go, and by the time they arrive at Joseph’s the sun is beginning to set. The house is small and white and on a seemingly endless stretch of farmland with no other homes in sight. Her eyes are filled with the green and gold plains of land and the beauty of it prompts tears to form, which she shakes away with irritation. She’s not usually one to be moved to tears by natural beauty, but something new surges within her. The sweetness of being alive, maybe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ben announces that he’s staying the night with them, but then he'll head back to Alfea first thing in the morning. "Joseph is not a fairy," he explains. "No one - not even Rosalind - knows about him. No one will come looking." She only nods. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Joseph makes dinner. It’s a simple roast, but she delights in it. She didn't feel hungry before, but with food placed in front of her she becomes ravenous. She shovels huge forkfuls into her mouth with almost absurd speed.Ben watches her with humor in his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I guess it has been three days since you've eaten," he says with a chuckle. Then, "I wish Saul were here to witness this. He'd never let you live it down." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tries to ignore the sting that comes with the comment - <em>yes, I wish Saul were here too</em>, she thinks - and gives Ben a sarcastic "Ha. Ha." Joseph spoons another large helping onto her plate. They keep the conversation light and polite throughout the meal, but Joseph is clearly a smart man and as soon as dinner is over he leaves the two of them to lounge by the fireplace alone.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The small room glows orange and she has the pleasant feeling of being safe in a deep cave beyond the reach of danger. She’s cocooned in a blanket, her body loose and languid and pleasantly full. There’s a painting of a lighthouse above the fireplace and Ben is smiling at it, deep in thought, and it strikes her that he must be thinking of Liam. Liam and his stories of growing up on a windy, grey coast. Liam and his muppet-smile and too-loud laugh and left hook that could drop most men. Liam who loved her above all else. Liam who had his throat ripped out by a Burned One only a couple years after graduation despite all of his training. Liam who was supposed to marry her and instead left her in the world alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She remembers, barely a week after his death, how Rosalind found her outside by the forest line on a cold winter morning. Snow was falling, light and soft and barely sticking to the ground, and her tears froze on her cheeks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Farah, it’s time to stop this.” she said, all business. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Farah scoffed, expecting as much from Rosalind, but still stung by her callousness all the same. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really, it’s time to move on. Death is an outcome we all face. Liam knew this. He accepted this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We were going to be married,” she said defensively, even though Rosalind knew. Of course she knew. Everyone knew. Everyone had held up glasses of champagne and toasted at the news of their engagement, and in that moment death didn’t seem like the likely outcome for any of them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And now you’re not. Everything happens for a reason. Liam made you weak. There is a war coming and I need the strongest people by my side. The strongest people have nothing to lose.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And what makes you so certain I am one of them?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fate. If you were meant for love then Liam would have lived. Some people are not fated for a life of love. Some people are fated for war.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sometimes I think you’re a monster,” Farah whispered, without looking at her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Someday you’ll thank me,” Rosalind answered back. “Buck up and be ready for training this afternoon.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did Rosalind ever tell you that you were fated for war?” she asks Ben that night. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He seems surprised by her question, but nods. “After Rose died. She told me that if I was fated for a life of love then Rose would have lived. I thought it was pretty cruel.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was.” Farah finds it easier to admit on Ben’s behalf than her own. “She said the same thing to me when Liam died.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry,” Ben says as he leans in to stoke the fire. “You know, she said the same thing to Andreas when Sky's mother died. And I assume she said something similar to Saul, but you would know better than me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why would I know better?” she asks, feeling caught somehow. Like an animal in a trap. Like a girl accused of a crush. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, you two were always so close. I never really had that connection with a specialist.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I—“ she starts, but she has no idea what she planned to say. Instead, she sighs. “And I have left him rotting in a cell while I sit here lounging by the fire.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You <em>died</em>, have you forgotten?” Ben is incredulous. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes her head. “He doesn’t know that. He thinks I’ve left him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll get him out,” Ben answers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Or I’ll fucking die again trying,” she responds and the fire bursts into a roar, sparking out of the fireplace.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“For fucks sake, Farah” says Ben as he stomps out the embers on the rug.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next morning Ben promises to come back as soon as he is able so they can discuss their plan of action. Until then, he says, she must rest. Just rest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She almost laughs in his face, but thinks better of it. No need to cause trouble.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So she stays quietly with Joseph and accepts his hospitality with graciousness, and does the dishes after dinner and helps with the garden and pretends that she is simply waiting for Ben’s return. All the while she is watching and listening and plotting her own next move.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The anger she woke up with in the forest seems to multiply each day. Even after Aster Dell she never wanted to kill Rosalind, but now she daydreams about all the different ways to end that woman's life. Seeing her burst open with orange light like a dying Burned One. Pushing her off the hill above Aster Dell and watching her hit every rock on the way down with a sickening thud. Driving a knife into her neck and holding eye contact as she sputters out blood, the life slowly fading from her pupils. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rosalind used to train them with a cruel hand. She broke ribs in each of them at one point or another, and missing a mark during practice would more times than not result in the air being knocked out of them. When Farah showed blatant disobedience - she was the only one who ever did - Rosalind would slice the skin across her back, her belly, her thighs with her invisible blade until she obeyed. Farah was not born a violent person. She was not suited for it, but Rosalind forced it into her anyway and now she lies awake imagining blood and pain and final breaths. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knows why Rosalind chose them out of all of the impressive, glimmering students at Alfea. It is painfully obvious, but she had the realization embarrassingly late. Rosalind chose them not for their abilities, but for who they were. The whole lot of them were nobodies from nowhere in the sea of sparkling somebodies. The other students had homes and dynasties and expectations to return to after school. Rosalind's special students had nothing. Where would they have gone if Rosalind had not plucked them out of the crowd and given them purpose? They were each so desperate for purpose. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She remembers talking to Saul about it years after their graduation, after Liam's death, but still many slow, creeping years before Aster Dell. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"She picked us because she thinks we'd have no place to go," she said when the two of them were alone after training one evening. Saul was cleaning his sword with careful, practiced movements. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"She's not wrong, is she," he replied. He never spoke about his life before Alfea and no one dared ask. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Farah sighed. "But maybe there is a world out there for us--" She felt like a child saying it aloud, naive and blindly hopeful for something that will never come. "Without all this." <em>This</em> meaning violence and cruelty and early mornings and tired legs and broken bones and the constant, burning fear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Saul stopped cleaning and met her gaze. "Do you remember life before Alfea? Do you really think it would be any different now? Life was always going to be difficult for our lot. Rosalind is... hard on us, but she is the only reason I'm not dead. Or worse."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Farah's throat clenched at his words. "Surely she's not the only reason," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Saul's lip quirked up at the corner. "No, she's not." He gripped her hand for just a second, the action catching her completely off guard and making her suddenly feel like a sheet blowing in the breeze. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thinking back on it now she sees everything with much more clarity. Rosalind, in spite of all the havoc she wreaked, gave them each the most important gift of their lives. She gave them each other.She wants to kill Rosalind, but she cannot bring herself to regret Rosalind. "Someday you'll thank me," the woman had told her, and she wasn't wrong. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So it’s clear to her now, reborn and electrified with purpose, what she must do. Rosalind thinks she can give a gift and then take it away at will, but Farah knows she’ll burn down the entire realm before she lets Rosalind take Saul from her. She had grown so used to his presence at her side that his absence now is a raw wound: persistent and impossible to ignore. She feels a magnetic pull to him, a need to be near him that nothing - not Ben’s caution, nor Rosalind’s power, nor the entire Solarian army - can vanquish. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She takes walks everyday, walking further and faster until one day she ends up within sight of the city. She draws maps from memory of the capital’s streets, making discreet paths in her mind straight to the prison. She concocts a glamour, one of a small, elderly woman - someone invisible - and tries it out along a busy street. No one looks her way. It’s an unsettling feeling for her, so used to the attention her natural height and presence demands, but she learns to harness the invisibility. She begins to move around like a ghost. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next step takes the longest, but is the most important. She locates a man who has managed to slip in and out of the prison unnoticed multiple times, supplying the black market trade and backed by the powerful underground of the capital. When she talks to him he makes it clear that he’s never snuck a prisoner out of prison, that it would be impossible, that the prisoners are chipped and monitored and that there is nothing to do about it. He explains that otherwise, powerful families would be slipping their children out of their cells left and right. She tells him she doesn't care. She just needs to get in. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s been in the cell for about six days when Rosalind finally shows up. She looks exactly how he remembers. Like she knows a terrible secret that she can’t wait to share. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello, darling,” she says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fuck off,” he answers back and she laughs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Not very nice! When I have information I bet you're dying to know."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How is Sky?” he asks, not ashamed to prove her right. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Good. Getting to know his father."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"He's safe?" Saul asks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Of course. Andreas would never let any harm come to the boy. He's sad about you, of course, but that can't be helped. All the students have to adjust to the changes. It won't be easy, but it will be good for them in the long run." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows she's purposely baiting him, making him ask the questions, but he's tired and worried and doesn't care if he falls into some trap she's setting. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What changes? What is happening?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Well," she says, standing up straighter. "I'm headmistress again and you know there is a lot of behavior I don't tolerate." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you headmistress? Where is Farah?” He can’t imagine where they must be keeping her. He can’t envision any cage capable of holding her back now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s dead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The words are like being struck in the back of the head. For a second, his brain can’t make sense of them. “No, she’s not,” he answers back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She is! Though no one else knows. They all think she took a sabbatical, which is proof that they barely knew the woman. Can you imagine? Where would she even go?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s not dead,” he repeated. There’s a part of him that believes he would have felt something if her spirit left the world. They’re connected, the two of them. He used to say they were like one sword melted down into two. He’s always had a vague awareness of her whereabouts, always some unexplainable sense of where she was at all times. He can't say for certain he has that now, exhausted and locked up in a dirty cell, but she doesn’t feel gone either. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Poor thing,” Rosalind says, the pity almost believable in her voice. “I don’t know what to say to make you believe me. Why don’t I just show you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he can respond he’s suddenly in the woods of Alfea and there is Farah in her headmistress uniform of coats and elaborate updos walking away from him until her body is lifted off the ground and her neck snapped with a violent force. He watches as her body crumples to the ground the way dead things do. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then he’s back in his cell and Rosalind is looking at him with a self-satisfied gleam in her eyes, and he doesn’t even care. He begins to cry. His chest feels hollow and painful, and he thinks this must be the feeling of Farah dying. Like his lungs have been ripped straight out of his body. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rosalind tuts. “Oh, Saul. You never told her, did you. Sixteen years the two of you together in that school, and you never fucking told her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels Rosalind in his brain and knows there is no use in denying it. He only shakes his head. “She didn’t—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course she loved you, you idiot! Even I saw it. Farah is soft. She’s always been soft, and she’s always been especially soft for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s never known when Rosalind is telling the truth or telling a lie - she has always told both with equal measure -but in this case the truth doesn’t matter. Whether Farah loved him or not, she's dead. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know,” says Rosalind as if treading the boards. “It is probably my fault. I told you all you weren’t destined for love. I made you all believe that. No wonder you had it staring you in the face and you were blind to it. You can't witness a miracle if you don’t believe they exist. And for that, I am sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, fuck off,” he says angrily. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I really am! It was necessary, even if the two of you would have been a lovely match. But we’ll never know, will we? She’s just food for the flowers now. You know, Farah's softness was her downfall in the end. She should have killed me all those years ago. She never had the edge, you know? The ruthlessness? If she could save everyone, she'd try. Even if the odds were stacked against her. Even if <em>everyone</em> included me. Even if it cost her her life."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He listens in silence, grief and rage and absolute darkness bubbling beneath his skin, inside his skull like some sort of witches cauldron about to boil over. He stares at the floor while Rosalind continues her monologue. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I tried to teach her how to be a leader. You know, she had the potential to be the most powerful fairy of our generation. That's why I plucked her out of obscurity, a little country bumpkin suddenly at Alfea among the realm's most powerful offspring. You must remember how out-of-place she looked, taller than most of the boys and dressed in raggedy hand-me-downs. The only thing that kept her from complete ridicule was my guidance. You saw how everyone began to respect her when they saw what she could do. I built her into what she was. I'll tell you a secret: she had always been more powerful than me. She just refused to access her full power. She was <em>noble</em>. She <em>cared</em>. She was soft. She was weak."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you here?” he shouts. He’s lost his patience for her games a long time ago, and hearing her talk about Farah in the past tense makes him feel like he is losing his mind too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Truly? Just to make certain that you won’t be a problem. I can see that is the case. I’ll leave you now. I’ve got a school to run.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re a monster,” he says back. “I’ll kill you for what you did.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rosalind laughs. “Go ahead and try.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And then she was gone. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One morning she wakes up and she knows that it is the day. Ben wasn't wrong when he said she needed time to recover, but he couldn't have known the extent to which it was true. Her body feels stronger each morning, but so does her mind. Her magic is different since coming back from the dead. It’s like fog clearing a field. She’s somehow opened a door in her mind and now there’s nothing she can’t do. She barely has to think about her magic for it to occur. Her mind has developed fingers, reaching out into the world and pulling back whatever she needs. Her hands buzz with it. "Complete control is the goal," she used to tell her students. "Like breaking a horse." Except now it feels like she's the horse itself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She helps Joseph with breakfast and as soon as he is out the backdoor she heads out the front. Halfway to the city she applies her glamour and slows her walk because even an old woman in a hurry might be noticed in her haste. Stepping into the city fills her with energy, and her sense of purpose grows stronger. She has never felt more focused in her power, in her intention. The noise in her brain, the persistent white-noise around her magic since Rosalind first taught her how to really use it, is gone. She thinks about what she said to the woman before her death. <em>I saw a world full of light. </em>Little did she know how much brighter it could be. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Entering the prison is easier than even she anticipated, following the man’s directions with a practiced ease. She used to taunt Saul with a half-joking “anything a man can do, a woman can do better,” but maybe it’s not a joke at all. Her small frame and light steps move quickly through the tight, hidden corridors with grace. She’s done her research and she knows where they are most likely to have placed Saul, and this is where her path diverges from that of her blackmarket friend. As she prepares to leave the hidden corridors, she closes her eyes and reads the magic barricades. It’s almost like a form of echolocation. It's the feeling of her hand on the barrier except now it’s her mind and it’s any barrier she’d like. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once she’s got the lay of the land, she steps out into the open. She’s in a hallway of heavy doors. Down at the end is the guard’s office, and she waits until the door opens and one steps out. He looks like he’s on his way to the bathroom or out for a break and she can feel that his mood is light, unbothered. Before he has a chance to see her, she catapults straight past his mental defenses and into the decision making part of his brain. It’s like setting the time in a watch. She simply turns the dial until he’s walking towards Saul’s cell (she never even needed to know which one - his brain already knew). With a simple, confident gesture, he unlocks the door and opens it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before leaving his mind, she places the intention to walk to the city limits before returning. That should give her enough time. As soon as he’s gone, she rushes to the cell’s open door. There within it is Saul, looking pale and exhausted and very confused, but otherwise unhurt. He’s looking at the doorway like it’s a trap. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She drops her glamour and enters the cell.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wonders if he’s lost his mind and is vividly hallucinating when Farah appears before him in his miraculously open cell. She looks like a hallucination, like Farah but not like Farah at the same time. She’s wearing clothes she might wear, but that he’s never seen on her before, and her hair is hanging long in a braid like he sees in his dreams, but never in real life. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Saul,” she says and it’s her voice, and he suddenly doesn't care if she’s real or not. His face crumbles and she pulls him into an embrace (another sign this might be a hallucination: he can count on one hand the amount of hugs they have shared over 20 years). </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re dead,” he says into her neck. He thinks he feels her laugh. She smells like Farah, like soap and cedar and something warm like the scent of a match being lit. It's a smell he never thinks about, but would recognize it anywhere.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I was, and now I’m back.” She pulls away and grips his hand in her own. “Hurry. We don’t have a lot of time. We have to leave now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Real or hallucination, he’ll follow her anywhere. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as he steps outside the cell, a light begins to flash along the hallway. Farah continues to pull him along, seemingly unbothered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s the plan, boss?” he asks. “I think they know I’m out of my cell.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even break stride. “We’re going to walk out of here and I’m going to take you somewhere safe and then we’re going to get the school back.” They turn a corner into another long, door-lined hallway. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ok, sounds great, but you are aware I am not quite fighting-fit right now and I am completely unarmed—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is interrupted by the appearance of guards straight ahead, barreling towards them. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the guards appear she drops Saul’s hand and raises both of hers to shoulder height. Her palms fill with a delicious warmth as bright, white light shines in her periphery. The guards raise their hands as well, and then suddenly everything is moving in slow motion. Everything except her. She calmly aims one hand at the nearest guard and watches as the white light knocks him flat. The guard next to him is still in the act of lifting his hand into position when her light knocks him back as well. With the ease of a conductor, she flicks her wrist and lays flat all the remaining guards, and turns around to flattened the ones who were approaching from behind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When she turns back around, everything is back moving at speed again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the fuck,” says Saul from behind her. “What the fuck!” She turns and smiles at him - explanations can come later - and then grabs his hand to continue their escape. They descend stairs and disarm traps and knock out more guards as she pulls Saul through the prison. She knows exactly how to get out - it’s somehow as if she’s been here before though she never has - and moves with confident, expert speed. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Watching Farah take out the guards is like watching one of his best students fight one of his first years. She’s barely breaking a sweat. He’s fought alongside her plenty of times and while she was always good - one of the best - she was never this good. Rosalind was never even this good. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He can’t say he knows exactly what Farah gets up to in those classes of hers, but he always thought it involved keeping students from accidentally killing themselves with their own magic. He can’t imagine it is responsible for this increase in power since the last time they fought side by side. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Every time a guard turns a corner, she blasts them down before they even have time to react. He knows there must be traps and magic barricades everywhere, but they are somehow unaffected by them. He’s lost count of the guards they have encountered, and he knows they are getting close to the exit, and he can’t believe Farah is just planning to walk out the front fucking door, but she seems to know what she’s doing, and he’s still half sure this is just a vivid dream anyway. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as the front door is in their sight - huge and gleaming with enforced steel and who knows what else - and Farah has knocked out all other breathing entities, she turns to him with a laser focus. She seems to be looking at his left ear and when she raises a hand he begins to feel his skin at the base of his skull tear. He flinches, but then the pain is gone as soon as it arrives, and when he opens his eyes she’s smiling at him. Between her fingers is a tiny shining chip, reflecting light like an opal. She tosses it over her shoulder and takes his hand in hers again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ready, partner?” she says and gestures towards the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the fuck,” he says again and she laughs her full, deep-chested laugh that always sends a spark right through him. It makes him smile in spite of the general situation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Out we go,” she says and true to her word, they walk straight out the front door of the prison. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as they step beyond the perimeter of the prison, Farah is no longer Farah, but a tiny old woman. He startles at the sight, but she rubs her hand along his forearm soothingly. She leans in and whispers, "A glamour. You're wearing one too." He can't see it on himself, but as they walk through the busy streets no one glances their way, which seems impossible as he was just wearing an unmissable prisoner's uniform.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She's hooked her arm into his and they are strolling at nearly a leisurely speed, which feels crazy considering that they just orchestrated a prison break. "Just stay calm," she says. "We are just an old couple out for a walk. That's all anybody can see." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What do I look like?" he asks, breathlessly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The old woman smiles and he can nearly see Farah within her wrinkled face. She looks at the people passing them silently until she gestures to their right. "Sort of like that man," she says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man in question is short and stout, hobbling on stiff legs. His white hair is thin and wispy and he's clearly combed it over the top of a bald spot, the pink skin peeking through undeterred. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"That's mean," he says after a moment of observation. "You're a cruel woman."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The old woman laughs and it is nothing like Farah's deep, contagious laughter. It's quiet and dry. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"But look at how well it's working! Nobody notices us. Without the glamours, we'd stand out horribly." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thinks of their actual physical appearances, the sight of them standing side by side, and silently agrees. She's a tall, striking woman and he's even taller. They're both dark and vivid-looking, and their bodies can't help but project strength. In short, they're good-looking. When they first met he didn’t think her beautiful. Her face seemed plain to him, with none of the exaggerated, luscious features he preferred as a young man. Now, all he can see is her beauty. He's blinded by it. Twenty odd years of working side by side and she can still knock the breath out of his chest with a certain gesture of her eyes. He's a fairly vain man and knows he's good-looking. She teases him about it often enough ("You're the beauty and I'm the brains of the operation," she jokingly told him once, and he went to bed wishing he told her she was beautiful right then instead of swallowing it down.) and always makes sure to let him know which students are helplessly in love with him each year. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And so walking through the capital's streets as a homely little couple is an unusual feeling. Being invisible is not what Rosalind trained them to be. He thinks that if Rosalind had organized this rescue mission, she would have had them all barrel into the city war-paint on and weapons loaded. The spectacle of winning sometimes seemed more important to her than the act itself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make it back to the house before nightfall. She keeps their glamours up until the homestead is within sight for caution's sake though she assures him that she's certain they haven't been followed. When she finally drops the glamours, he nearly swoons at the sight of her again and pulls her into another hug. She returns it, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing loudly. When she pulls back there is worry in her face. They continue the final walk to the house. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"How are you?" she asks. He's aware that she holds the ability to jump inside his brain and find out herself, and he's always grateful that she chooses to ask instead. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He remembers how Sky once asked him if Farah could read minds. He must have been 9 or 10, just beginning to understand the concept of privacy and his little face showed distress. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"She can," he answered. "But she doesn't unless it can help protect us from danger."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"How do you know she doesn't though? Maybe she's reading your mind all of the time?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laughed softly. "First of all, she would never. She's too good for that. Second of all, I'd be able to feel it if she did."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sky contemplated this for a moment. "What does it feel like?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He exhaled at the question. He remembers thinking it was impossible to describe, but tried anyway. "Like... being touched on the inside. Like having someone gently touch your mind."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Gross," said Sky, and Saul laughed louder. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It's not really," he said. "It feels nice, in a way."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"How do you know what it feels like? So she <em>has</em> read your mind!" Sky declared, as if catching him in a trap. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It was part of our training. Our... teacher used to make her do it. As an exercise. She also used to have Farah make us do things."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"What kind of things?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Nothing exciting. Simple things. Walk across the room. Sit in a chair. Spin in a circle. Whatever our teacher said, like Simon Says." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"That's funny," said Sky. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Farah hated it," he remembered aloud. He could still see the look of pain in her eyes whenever Rosalind forced her to invade their minds. Rosalind always seemed to enjoy those exercises as if they were a form of entertainment. Her face would be mirthful, calling out orders for Farah to execute and Farah in turn would press her lips together, holding back tears as she looked upon them apologetically. Sometimes he would see blood bloom through her shirt and he'd know Rosalind was slicing the skin beneath, punishing her for her hesitation. He would catch sight of the red scratches along her torso when he dared to peek at her changing after practice, pity and anger and lust all mingling into one confusing mess in his brain. He would tell her over and over that it was okay, that he didn't mind, that he knew that Rosalind was making her do it, but it never eased her guilt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"She's never done it since,” he told Sky. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And she still hasn't, even now as she looks at him with incalculable worry, imagining the worst. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I'm fine," he says. He really is, all in all. "So glad to see you. Grateful to be out of prison. Worried about Sky. Furious at Rosalind." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Hmm," she agrees. "Me too. Dangerously furious." The anger is evident in her voice, cracking like a whip. It chills him. It excites him, too. The smell of a match being lit. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She leads him into the house, which is small, but warm and welcoming. He's lived in that big, rambling school for so long he's forgotten about the comforts of a cozy space. There's a man sitting in the kitchen and he stands upon their entry. He looks familiar and when Farah introduces him as Ben's cousin, Saul shouts out, "Of course you are!" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They visit for a while, Farah careful not to reveal much about how and why Ben's other coworker is suddenly here. Eventually, Joseph wishes them goodnight, telling Farah to set up a bed for Saul wherever she thinks is best. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turns to him after Joseph leaves, a very Farah look in her eyes. "Nightcap?"</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sit together on the sofa in front of the fire. She positions herself close enough to him to feel the heat of his body though they do not touch. She considers him her best friend, her other half, but while they touch regularly, habitually - hands on elbows, fingers dressing wounds, body on body when sparring - something about their proximity now feels uncharted. They are good at closeness, but maybe they are bad at intimacy. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They sip their drinks in comfortable silence until he clears his throat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"You <em>were</em> dead," he finally says.It's not quite a question. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Yes," she answers. "Rosalind killed me." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His lips twitch in anger, but he doesn't seem surprised at the news. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Bloom and Ben brought me back. A renewal. Three days later, I think. Then Ben hid me away here. He promises to come back as soon as he's able. He... doesn't know I went to get you." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I'm sure he'll know soon enough. News of my escape and the hundred dead guards I left in my wake will surely get back to him." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"They're not dead," she tells him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"The guards?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods. “They're just unconscious."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh," he answers. "For how long?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She quirks her eyebrow and shrugs. "I haven't decided yet." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widen. "They're still out?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Yes. I didn't think it was smart to awaken them yet."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shakes his head in disbelief. "How are you doing that?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She exhales a dramatic, "Ahhhh" and pushes a stray lock of hair behind her ears. "It's hard to explain. I thought about putting the entire city to sleep, but that seemed like it would open up a world of problems. I didn't want to involve people who had nothing to do with this if I could help it."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Farah," he says, so serious. "Why is your magic... different? Stronger? Unbelievably stronger?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I don't know for sure, but it has to do with dying and coming back. Maybe Bloom's ancient magic seeped into mine somehow. I don't know. I really don't know! It's just that ever since I woke up from being dead my magic has become somehow... <em>limitless</em>."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn't answer. She places her drink down on the table slowly, waiting, but he doesn't say anything. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Does it scare you?" she finally asks, her voice soft. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"No," he answers quickly. "It probably should, but it doesn't. You're you, still."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I'm me, but... I feel more. I feel anger like I never have. I feel the beauty of a day so intensely now. The joy of simple pleasures, like--" she gestures to the fireplace. "Like sitting in front of a fire. I feel love and the need to protect those I love, and oddly enough the one thing I do not feel is fear."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There's a long silence as he stares at her. She can see his brain working behind the light of his irises. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, he states: "You're like Gandalf the White."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She burst into laughter, the kind that rumbles through her whole body. She hears Saul laughing too and it fills her with warmth. He has laughed so rarely since the return of the Burned Ones, and she loves his laugh. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Yes," she answers, humor in her voice. "And Rosalind is the One Ring and we have to throw her into the fires of Mount Doom before she kills anyone else."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Rosalind is clearly Sauron, but I'll let it go." After a pause, he asks, "Does that make me Frodo?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh no. You're definitely Aragorn. Through and through."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Really?" he says, pleased with himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Mmm-hmm. Brave and loyal and <em>good</em>. And so attractive." She says the last part with a hint of flirtation in her voice. This game is not new to them. She thinks of how they would train together. They did it up until the return of the Burned Ones, eager to keep their skills honed even as they aged, even as peace made them careless and distracted. He would always make a big show of challenging her in front of all of the students and she would always pretend to be annoyed, but then he would toss her a stick and she would swing it round her head with an ease that never failed to draw a gasp from their audience. She thinks the students must believe she was born in a library, sprung fully-formed from a dusty copy of <em>The History of Magic, </em>and so she always loved the melodramatic reveal of her fighting abilities that Saul orchestrated each year. As soon as she was in her ready stance he would attack. He always attacked first, eager to drop her to the mat or flip her over his shoulder. She was aware of the unspoken undercurrent. They were sparring, but they were also dancing, and sometimes when she'd have him pinned beneath her there was that other thing too, fizzing away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were experts at letting it fizzle, harmless and untouched, but when she smiles at him from the other side of the sofa she suddenly realizes that this is different. How could it not be? She's back from the dead and he faced execution and their whole world - the world they built together - has been smashed to pieces by the very woman who forged their bond in the first place. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His soul is in his eyes and he's looking at her with such pure longing that her breath catches in her chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Farah," he says and tears immediately spring to her eyes simply at the sound. "You need to know something." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I do?" she whispers back, her voice low and small. All her training never prepared her for this. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn't break her gaze, and maybe he is braver than her. The corner of his lips tug up just slightly. "You need to know that I love you."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She imagined those words from his mouth more times than she cares to admit to herself, but yet somehow she never anticipated the feeling it gives her. She feels like she swallowed the bright morning sun. She feels like maybe she is fated for love.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I love you, too," she says and it's like dropping a heavy suitcase in the doorway after returning home. "I love you more than I can say." She's crying now through her words. "I feel it like I never have before. I feel it with all of my being."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He moves then, leaning across the sofa and placing his hands gently along her jaw, fingers sliding behind her neck. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear that," he whispers, his lips mere inches from hers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh," she laughs as he wipes the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "I think I do." She finishes the job, leaning forward until her mouth meets his, and brings her hands up to his chest to grasp handfuls of his shirt. It feels like love, gentle and warm, but also like lightning. Like falling. He kisses exactly how he fights (life or death every time) and when she crawls into his lap she thinks of their sparring, of how it really was just practice for this after all. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She awakes the next morning to Saul asleep in bed beside her and she thinks she'll die if she ever has to wake up alone again. Just perish. Evaporate into mist right where she sits. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sun is practically screaming into the room, blaring past the curtains she didn't think to close last night, but he's still in a deep slumber. He probably hasn't had a full night's sleep since before his arrest and maybe even longer. She almost feels guilty about last night, keeping him otherwise occupied when he should have been sleeping, but that was a runaway train car if ever there was one. Nothing was stopping the two of them from consummating something 20 years in the making. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thinks of the previous night and feels almost like a voyeur. The memory of being astride him, of the look on his face, of his hands on the skin of her waist is like a memory belonging to some other woman. A woman who touches and loves and doesn't overthink anything. The feeling of him inside of her was at once like the missing piece of her existence and yet also like something sinfully decadent. Like breathing oxygen, but also like eating cake. Something necessary and right, but also so, so good. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She luxuriates in bed a while longer, stretching out her limbs and watching Saul sleep like some sort of lovesick teen girl, but eventually ambles to the kitchen and to the kettle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Joseph is there, reading the newspaper and making his way through a pile of buttered toast. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Morning," he says warmly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Morning, Joseph." She pours hot water into one of Joseph's plain, utilitarian mugs, so unlike the ones abandoned in her office. The weight of them in her hand never fails to remind her of what she's lost. Of what she must reclaim. "You need any help out there today? You now have two able and willing farmhands." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I think I'm the luckiest farmer in all of Solaria." He shakes his head. "I'm heading out to meet a man about a horse, which I'm aware sounds incredibly fake, but I swear it's true. So my only instruction is to enjoy the day."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"You're too generous, Joseph," she says sincerely as she cradles the mug. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There's an amicable silence between the two of them as she looks out the kitchen window. It's fitting to be a beautiful day, she thinks. The world is falling apart, but it doesn't seem to realize it yet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Ben never said you two were a couple," Joseph says casually, knocking her out of her thoughts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh?" she answers because she has no idea what else to say. Her instinct is to deny it, but he must have heard <em>something</em> incriminating to reach his conclusion, must know that Saul is currently asleep in her bed, and she can't bear to lie to Joseph. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Makes sense," he declares, not looking up from his paper. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p class="p2">
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She's sitting out on the patio by the time Saul leaves the bed. Joseph is long gone and she's on her second cup of tea when he pads outside barefoot and sleepy eyed. He's beautiful, she thinks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He kisses her head sweetly. "Morning," he says into her hair. She's left it down and wild, and he threads his fingers through it before settling into the seat next to her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Morning," she whispers back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He reaches across the table and steals her mug, lifting it to his lips with a smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"So. What's on the agenda for today, Headmistress?" He's looking at her warmly, lovingly, but also like a soldier awaiting orders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She thinks of the road ahead and it seems so daunting that it’s nearly comical. She makes a mental inventory of the tasks they face: They have to return to Alfea. Destroy every last Burned One. Win whatever war Rosalind promises is coming. Kill Rosalind. Establish peace with Luna. Solve whatever problems Andreas' return has surely caused. Find Bloom's birth parents and understand the depth of her powers. Return a sense of normalcy to the school. Make the students feel safe again, somehow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They're standing at the bottom of a looming mountain. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yet, she looks at Saul and can forget it all for a moment. She is reborn in more ways than one. She <em>is</em> fated for love. Here is this man across from her whom she loves with her entire being and he's ready to run into the darkness with her. There he is looking at her like she is the sun he revolves around, and she thinks <em>Fuck it</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For just one day they can have this. Simply this. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Nothing," she finally answers. "Today is for us."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Title is borrowed from Lucy Dacus's "Next of Kin." </p>
<p>I've taken a lot of liberties with fairy magic since I have no background knowledge of the Winx world &amp; have only watched the Netflix show, and I have definitely co-opted the idea of a witch's glamour for this story. Hope it didn't bother anyone too much!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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